THE UNDYING | TWILIGHT

12. Penance

At the edge of Volterra, far from busy city center, stood the ancient church of San Francesco, a plain stone building constructed in the thirteenth century for a community of Franciscan monks. Despite its inconvenient location, tourists flocked to the quaint church, describing it as a charming piece of Italian culture. But still, even with the exposed wooden beams and beautifully painted frescoes, the modest church could not compete with the gilded ceilings of Volterra's ornate cathedral, so most visitors never returned, and for that the locals were thankful.

"This is a house of worship," many would complain. "How am I supposed to pray with cameras flashing in my face?"

But today there were no flashing cameras to distract them. By four o'clock, the chapel was silent apart from the quiet sloshing of the young priest's mop as he prepared for the five o'clock mass. Up and down the aisle he went, and when his squeaky mop grew too loud, he was shushed by an elderly woman who'd arrived early to say her prayers.

Lord, give me strength, thought the young priest as he smiled apologetically at the old woman. Above all, give me patience, and then he resumed his cleaning.

Suddenly, a man appeared behind the young priest. If he didn't know better, the priest might have thought the man had just stepped right out of the shadows.

"Excuse me, Padre," said the man in a low voice, his mouth hidden behind the unnaturally high collar of his coat, "is there a priest available to hear my confession?"

"Well, if you don't mind waiting ..." He broke off, struggling to meet the man's gaze. Quickly, almost frantically, the man's dark eyes darted back and forth to escape the priest's chasing glare. "I can hear you once I'm finished here." He gestured toward the old, wooden confessional. "Please, I won't be long."

The man nodded his head and proceeded to the confessional. "Take your time."

"Do watch your step," warned the priest. "The floor is a bit slippery."

But the man paid him no mind and strode across the sopping wet floor without hesitation. As he passed by the old woman, who was in the middle of a quiet prayer, she glanced up from her folded hands and met his passing gaze. In that moment, a single prayer entered into her mind, a prayer she hadn't uttered since she was a little girl fearing the monster hiding under her bed:

The light of God surrounds us,
The love of God enfolds us,
The power of God protects us,
The presence of God watches over us,
Wherever we are, God is,
And where God is, all is well.

"All is well," the woman whispered, clutching the wooden cross dangling from her neck. Once the man had disappeared into the confessional, she stood up and hurried out of the chapel.

"Is something wrong, signora?" called the priest as she rushed past him. "Oh, please, be careful ... the floor!"

He tried to offer her a hand, but the woman pulled away, muttered something about a demon with black eyes, and kept on walking.

"A demon?" The priest let out tired sigh and shook his head. "Lord, please help me make it through this day."

Once he finished cleaning, the priest lifted the modest blue curtain and entered the confessional, where the quiet man was patiently waiting to divulge his sins.

Upon the kneeler he sat with his head hung low, and at the priest's prompt, he performed the sign of the cross and said, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was one month ago. I would like to say that I meant to come sooner, but that would be a lie, for I did not want to come at all. However, I could not dissuade my soul's desire for forgiveness."